Even before she reached Wren's room, Genevieve could hear the commotion inside. Shouting and cursing and the sounds of furniture being tipped over and shoved aside in a fruitless search for their valuable goods. As she laid a hand on the door, a shiver ran through her body at the idea of a living, breathing person being considered merchandise. For someone to think they had the right to sell another human to be used as a plaything, forced into a life of humiliation and degradation. It was repulsive.

And to imagine that Wren was just such a person . . .

Again, her heart squeezed tight, and it was as though she could feel it bleeding inside her chest. Still, she gripped the doorknob and pushed, revealing the utter panic within the room. Wren cursed as he threw the bed onto its side, two of his cronies uselessly looking through the empty wardrobe. Every article of clothing he owned was strewn across the floor. Genevieve caught sight of the ropes that had been used to bind the young woman's wrists and ankles.

They'd been torn to pieces.

Taking a trembling breath, Genevieve again checked for her pistol, and once she was certain she was armed, she cleared her throat. All three men snapped their attention to her. The two cronies quickly looked to Wren, as if waiting for direction. He didn't say a word. He just stared at her, his eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Ghenny," he muttered.

Summoning all the strength and courage she could find, Genevieve whispered, "How could you?"

Wren stood in the middle of the room, his breathing heavy as he kept his dark distant gaze on her. His two friends remained still except for their eyes, which darted nervously between Wren and Genevieve. They'd seen her anger before and had, in fact, been on the receiving end of it. But this wasn't her typical disapproval. This was different. Very different. It was betrayal and pain like she'd never known. And she had no idea how she would react to it.

Even worse, she didn't know how Wren would react to it.

"Is this your doing?" he said at last, pointing at the shredded ropes.

"I told you not to bring your work into this house," she said, her voice trembling with either rage or tears. She wasn't sure which yet.

"It was an emergency. We nearly got caught."

"You lied to me."

"So you wouldn't have to be involved. I was trying to protect you."

Shaking her head slowly, she gripped her skirts in an attempt to control herself. "And what about that poor girl? Did you ever think of protecting her when you abducted her from the street and stuffed her into a wardrobe?"

"Ghenny, please—"

"I've heard horror stories about girls being snatched up and traded like cattle. How they're forced into prostitution by vicious, greedy men and women looking to make a profit off of young virgins with pretty faces. But I never thought someone I knew—someone I loved—could be one of those despicable monsters."

"Oh, please, give me more credit than that. I don't force them into it."

"How else would you describe what you're doing?"

"I just find them and sell them off to the abbesses and ponces."

Throwing her hands up in frustration, she shouted, "How is that any different?"

He took a step towards her, his jaw clenched. "It is. I ain't the one forcing them to sell themselves."

"It's still disgusting."

"Ghenny, please, listen to me."

She shook her head and turned on her heel, hurrying out the door.

"Wait! Ghenny! Where are you going?"

She bolted for the stairs, but strong, familiar arms grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. She fought against them, despite recognizing her clear disadvantage. He tightened his grip on her, crushing her ribs as he held her against his chest.

"You can't tell the coppers, Ghenny," he whispered into her ear. "I could hang for this."

"You should hang for it," she hissed, still straining against his hold.

"Don't you care about me, Ghenny? Don't you love me? Are you really willing to watch me die?"

Her heart sank. That was the problem. She did love him. Even knowing what he'd done, she couldn't instantly rid herself of the feelings she had for him. Feelings that had developed and grown over the span of a year. A year of passionate kisses and playful whispers. A year of petty arguments and heartfelt apologies. A year of not being able to imagine her life with anyone else.

He was a monster for what he was doing to these girls. But that didn't change the fact that only this morning, he'd been the man she loved. And it was because of this that her heart was torn in two, knowing she had to do the right thing while wanting to protect him at the same time.

"Ghenny."

She took a breath and reached for her waistband as Wren turned her to face him. His large, warm hands dug into her arms as he squeezed her tight, forcing her to look into his eyes.

He drew her closer, his expression desperate. "Ghenny, I—"

Pressing the muzzle of the pistol to his chest, she held his gaze and pulled the trigger. She hardly even heard the shot echo through the hallway. Her focus was on his hazel eyes and the betrayal that flashed through them as the bullet lodged itself in his flesh. His grip on her loosened, and he gazed down at himself. Blood was quickly seeping through his shirt, right where his heart would be, leaving a dark red stain.

Turning his attention back to her, he moved his lips as if to speak, but seemed unable to find the words. Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "I had no choice."

And then more hands were on her, different hands from Wren's. Small, bony, cold hands. They took her gun and yanked her from Wren as one of his friends tried to keep him from collapsing to the floor, shouting something about a doctor. Faces appeared in the doorways as the boarders were woken by the commotion.

"Get in here, you bloody whore," hissed the man who was dragging her away from the scene and into Wren's room.

He slammed the door shut and threw her against a wall. A sharp pain exploded in her head, but she didn't have a chance to even open her eyes before those hands again took hold of her. This time, they forced her into the wardrobe, nearly pulling her shoulder out of its socket in the process.

"We'll deal with you later," he growled, throwing the doors shut.

She clawed at them, but he must have secured them like before, as they wouldn't budge. Pounding against the old, thick wood, she screamed for help, thinking someone might hear her. One of her tenants, Lyla, anyone. And then she stopped. If they did hear and attempted to rescue her, Wren and his men would go after them. She couldn't let that happen. No one else could get involved in this.

So, drawing her knees up to her chest, she waited. For what, she didn't know.

But her mind came up with a hundred possibilities.

~

Whether it was hours or minutes, she wasn't sure. Eventually, though, the doors were thrown open, and she found not just two of Wren's friends, but all of them. At least half a dozen scowling faces filled the small room, and every eye was on her.

"Get her on the bed," one of them said.

Two of the men grabbed her, lugging her over to the bed as two others set it back on its feet. She dug in her heels, trying to twist out of their grip, but to no avail. Slamming her onto the mattress, they held down her arms and legs, and despite her curses and threats, they wouldn't relent.

"Wren will kill you all if you dare to treat me like a common whore," she gasped, a surge of pain erupting in her shoulder as she tried to wrench herself away from them.

"Don't flatter yourself," spat one man with thick, dark eyebrows as he approached. "None of us are interested in your madge. We're just here to make sure you don't talk. Open her mouth."

He pulled out a knife, and for a moment, she ceased her struggling. The metal blade caught the light from the single window in the room. Another set of hands pried her mouth open, and the man with the knife came closer.

Screaming and fighting with everything she had, she attempted to escape. But there were too many of them. Her jaw ached from trying to close it, and her limbs soon went limp, leaving her completely vulnerable to the knife coming down at her face.

A sharp, fiery pain engulfed her tongue. Her eyes shot open, and she tried to scream but found she had no voice. The blade sawed further into the muscle, and her mouth quickly filled with warm blood. It trickled down her throat, and she gagged and coughed, the metal blade nicking her gums.

"If you'd shut your sauce box, this would be less of a hassle," the man with the eyebrows growled as he made the final cut. "Got it. All right, burn it closed."

Her chest heaved as she turned her head aside in an effort not to drown in her own blood. It was then that she saw the iron poker glowing bright red with heat. Panic seized her heart, but before she could react, her jaw was again forced open, and the scorching metal was pressed against what was left of her tongue.

For several agonizing seconds, it felt as though a fire had ignited in her mouth, and she feared her entire body might burst into flames, burning down the room and the house with it.

And then everything went black.